


Crash

by Nununununu



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Attraction, Complicated Relationships, Concussions, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Lovers, Fights, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stranded, Touching, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: “I can only think that perhaps you like me.”
Relationships: Grievous | Qymaen jai Sheelal/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145
Collections: Little Black Dress Exchange 2020





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> For thedevilchicken. Thanks for the lovely prompts! It was a lot of fun to write about these characters.
> 
> TW for not too graphic violence, including the threat of choking and attempted drowning, non-detailed vomit and general mistreatment of someone with a concussion.
> 
> (Originally posted 17/07; updated for author reveals)

“Well General,” Obi-Wan half-fell out of the wreckage of the ship they’d been fighting on, managing to land on both feet more by luck than he made it seem, “It seems we are the only survivors –”

And then his legs went out from under him.

Grievous predictably swooped in to take advantage of the situation, grabbing Obi-Wan by the throat with one hand, another two hands hauling him effortlessly up off the sand by his shoulders to shove him hard against one of the few trees left standing on the thankfully uninhabited island the crash had almost completely flattened.

“I think you mean,” he hissed venomously, leaning in aggressively close to Obi-Wan’s ear, “That _I_ am the only survivor.”

The menacing impression this was no doubt intended to create was perhaps unfortunately lessened given the impact left Obi-Wan coughing into his fist uncontrollably for some time, after which he recovered and simply hung from the General’s grip. His expression was a little wry, as if his feet weren’t suspended several feet above the ground, blood matting his hair above one temple and trickling down the side of his cheek, a memento from the landing.

“This _is_ a bit of a role reversal, isn’t it,” The dryness of his tone was compounded by huskiness as a result of Grievous’ fingers tightening almost contemplatively around the base of his neck – not squeezing or choking him as yet, but definitely offering the promise of it. Obi-Wan continued, unperturbed, “I seem to remember, the last four times we clashed, _I_ had _you_ pinned.” He paused for a split second, not long enough to let Grievous get a word in, and then added, “I mean metaphorically, of course.”

“Do you _ever_ stop talking?” Grievous’ fingers dug in tight enough to cause Obi-Wan a spike of genuine alarm, not that he was about to show it, although he did bring his hands up to grasp hold of the General’s wrists.

“Why, General,” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, “Surely you should know the answer to that by now.”

He got an inarticulate snarl in response, Grievous dragging Obi-Wan away from the tree in order to shake him, before flinging him back onto the sand.

Obi-Wan hit it face first. Failing to prevent a groan, he prepared to push himself upwards, prevented by the fact the General landed in a crouch on top of him and flipped him over with one hand, as two other hands pinned the Jedi’s shoulders and another formed a threatening fist.

“Go on then,” Obi-Wan’s head was throbbing now, his hair and beard thick with bloodied sand, the taste of which was truly disgusting. The pain was irrelevant, but the blur to his eyesight creating an vision of Grievous duplicated above him was mildly disturbing, mostly because if it was true, there were now two of him.

“Why don’t you fight back,” Grievous tossed him around a bit more, Obi-Wan’s head flopping around eventually seeming to clue him in, given he grabbed the Jedi by his shoulders this time, pulling him up to squint into his face, “You _can’t_.”

This pronouncement was laced with barely restrained glee.

“Oh I assure you I _can_ ,” Struggling to even out his breath, Obi-Wan nonetheless managed to reply more or less smoothly, “I am simply choosing not to, however, as it would be dirty.”

“What would _you_ do that would be _dirty_ , Jedi?” It was difficult to say which word Grievous sneered over more in this question, although the last one definitely contained the most hatred. The rest – well, they had fought each other for long enough now that Obi-Wan was starting to think he sensed other emotions as well in the General’s voice, more conflicted ones, although the almost curious inflection to his tone now clearly had to be due to confusion on his part thanks to the head injury.

“Would you like to know?” Obi-Wan enquired, and almost swallowed his tongue when the General shook him fairly viciously this time. “I do – have to point out – that I have a head injury,” He gasped, when it was done, “If you’re going to kill me, could you just get on with it?”

“You can still fight back, can you? So let us see you get out of _this_ , Jedi,” Snagging Obi-Wan’s ankle, Grievous dragged him down across the sand to where the white-topped waves were tumbling in on the shore, then caught the collar of Obi-Wan’s robes with another hand, and shoved his head into the water.

Having been expecting precisely this, Obi-Wan managed to refrain from choking, holding his breath calmly, although it was admittedly made more difficult by the probable concussion and the fact he was starting to feel decidedly nauseous.

“I probably ought to warn you there’s a fair chance I’m going to throw up,” He got out when Grievous plucked his head back out of the water seemingly to check on his progress.

“ _You can’t use the Force_ ,” The triumph in the General’s voice was palpable, hand curving around Obi-Wan’s skull, the possessiveness in the gesture making it almost like a caress.

“I thought we’d already established that,” Obi-Wan chuckled a little, and then wretched, “Something about the concussion, I presume. Now if you’ll pardon me –”

He had to throw up then, something he never appreciated doing, especially not with an audience. Given he had no desire to be reacquainted with the contents of his stomach, it was with a feeling almost like gratitude that he clutched hold of the General’s wrists again when Grievous hoisted him away from the waves and stalked back towards the tree from earlier.

“Are you going to die?” Depositing Obi-Wan there ungently, he hankered down to stare at him.

“You don’t seem to be killing me yet for some reason,” Obi-Wan felt a little better for the trunk against his back, even if the sky was spinning. He raised a shoulder in a lopsided shrug, “So who can say. I suppose I should thank you for getting the sand out of my hair and beard.”

“ _I was drowning you_ ,” Grievous shot in to loom over him, all narrow-eyed menace.

“And yet you failed,” Obi-Wan found he half-smiled in return. Once again this had to be due to the concussion, “I can only think that perhaps you like me.”

“ _Like_ you?” The suggestion was enough to send Grievous into a coughing fit of his own, which Obi-Wan waited out politely, just as he did the monologue the General gave afterwards regarding the status of their relationship as enemies.

“I’m awfully thirsty,” Obi-Wav wiped his mouth on his cuff when the speech was finally finished, “Do you think what’s left of this island contains any fresh water?”

“Why would I _care_ if you died of thirst?” Grievous seemed most put out at the lack of reaction to his fairly creative descriptions, but rose up to his feet with a hiss, potentially at the sheer amount of sand that leaked out of his cybernetic parts. “Stay put, Jedi.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere,” Obi-Wan promised fairly cheerfully, as if he had any expectation that his legs would support him if he tried. He watched as the General stalked over to the wreckage of the ship and hauled on several parts to widen the crumpled entranceway enough to permit him to duck within, given it was that or inspect the pretty blue waves Obi-Wan appreciated no longer being drowned in, as he rather suspected the calming sight of the latter would send him to sleep.

He was close to drowsing however long it took Grievous to return anyway, and startled when the General threw something in his lap.

A canteen.

“I didn’t –” Obi-Wan felt somewhat caught off guard for the first time in a long time.

“Don’t mistake my intentions,” Grievous turned his back to him, glancing at him over his shoulder, “I fully intend to kill you. I have simply decided to wait to do so when you are _slightly_ less pathetic.”

“I shall look forward to that, then,” Obi-Wan frowned at his hands until they stopped shaking, and then he uncapped the lid, almost expecting the canteen to be empty as he raised it to his lips.

It wasn’t. The water was refreshingly cool, washing away the sour taste of his mouth and the last of the sand from between his teeth.

“Thank you,” It seemed only right to say this, no matter who he was saying it to. Everything was starting to feel a little unreal. Sleep –

No, sleep still wouldn’t be good. Although it was becoming a very real possibility.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Grievous sounded as baffled by the gratitude as he was offended, his four hands fisting – and how strange it was to see him without his lightsabers, just as Obi-Wan’s hand felt strange without his.

There was something about that Obi-Wan should be thinking on, something to do with the fact their weapons were presumably there amongst the wreckage, and yet the General had not taken the opportunity to locate them, unless he’d hidden them somewhere for future access.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me,” Obi-Wan’s voice sounded a bit slurred to his own ears, his shoulders slumping back a bit against the tree. His eyelids were so heavy. Surely just closing them for a short while wouldn’t hurt –

No, he needed to stay awake.

“Of course you don’t,” Grievous’ retort was oddly lacking its usual loathing despite the clear scorn. It also came from much closer than it had before.

Obi-Wan slit his eyes open – when had they closed? – to find the General crouched down over him again, staring at him from nearly no distance at all, a hand braced on the tree trunk either side of Obi-Wan’s head. Had he lost consciousness for a bit? He hadn’t heard Grievous move.

“Ah,” He had to lick his lips, dry despite the drink, intently aware of the way those yellow eyes tracked the movement.

He couldn’t trust Grievous. He couldn’t trust the General to watch over him if he did pass out, just as he couldn’t trust the General with anything else except a tendency to overestimate his own abilities and to single out Obi-Wan out on the battlefield again and again, just as Obi-Wan did him in return.

Really it _had_ to be the concussion that had Obi-Wan feeling almost affectionate towards the General as a result.

“Why General,” He whispered into the anticipatory silence that hung between them, and saw Grievous’ eyes narrow further than ever as he focused on the movement of Obi-Wan’s lips, “Perhaps you might want to consider giving me a little space.”

His heart was beating hard.

“Lest you do something _dirty_?” If laughs could contain sneers, this one would, although Grievous’ posture remained noticeably – well, not neutral. But not nearly as threatening as it could be either, although Obi-Wan had never _truly_ found him threatening, which was part of the problem, wasn’t it.

Feeling as if he was in a dream, he brought a hand up to press his palm against Grievous’ chest plates, seeing the General look down at it.

As if he had also slipped into that dream, Grievous didn’t back away. He didn’t laugh again either. “ _That_ is your plan?”

“Indeed. I tear these open,” Obi-Wan found he stroked a line down the centre instead of doing what he said, fingers trailing, “Destroy what lies within.”

A shudder seemed to pass through Grievous, although he still didn’t retreat, “As if you could.”

“Perhaps not currently,” Obi-Wan offered his enemy a smile, “I think we’re beyond that now though, aren’t we.”

Expecting a spluttered complaint for his efforts, he was taken by surprise when Grievous reached a hand forward – not to attack, but to cup his cheek. Checking the head injury? The General’s fingers brushed through his wet hair.

A lump flying into Obi-Wan’s throat, he let his eyes flutter closed, turning his head to press his mouth fervently against Grievous’ palm.

“You’re an idiot, Kenobi,” The insult was so mild, it was almost indistinguishable from an endearment.

“Concussed,” Obi-Wan reminded him, because it was a convenient excuse that could cover anything. Ignoring the fact that the head injury wasn’t nearly as bad as he had all but convinced himself it was, he stroked his fingers between the gaps in Grievous’ plating, and gently tugged – not to attack, but to demand the General close what remaining distance there was between them.

“ _Liar_ ,” Grievous purred, and did.


End file.
